


I put a spell on you (because you're mine)

by harscrow



Category: Rammstein
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-04-06 19:21:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19069045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harscrow/pseuds/harscrow
Summary: Clad in skin-tight pants and a grey shirt, he walks toward his bandmate. In the air, Richard can smell the mawkish stench of competition. The closer he gets to Till and his harem, the stronger it grows, and Richard is not ready to admit how much of it he’s oozing himself.





	I put a spell on you (because you're mine)

Richard raises his glass and rocks it gently, eyes fixed just under the rim. The venue looks liquid through the sloshing vodka, as if the after show party took place underwater. In the dim light of that aquarium, he studies the room like a spectator, sees figures moving, living, making something unforgettable out of their time.

The booze feels foreign in his hand, out of place. It’s not his thing, it has never been, and yet he washes down what’s left of his patience with a mouthful of Stoli, and decides to excuse himself. The taste is awful to his unaccustomed palate but, after all, the gesture has nothing to do with pleasure. On most days, he’d love to stay and chat with the fans, hear their stories and how far they travelled to be there, but not tonight. He’s never been good at resisting his urges, especially _the one_ , the most imperishable of them. Said temptation is now sitting right across from him, surrounded by adoring, feminine looks. Richard thought that performing an unexpected act might attract his attention, and he was right. Till is gazing at him.

Always a gentleman, Richard doesn’t leave without granting the people gathered around him his apologies. “I’m sorry, ladies. I’m afraid I’m too tired to fully appreciate the gift of your company. I’m glad you got to attend the show, and I hope to see you around. Have a lovely night!” Some of it true, some of it false. He sure as hell can’t tell them the actual reason for such a quick departure.

Clad in skin-tight pants and a grey shirt, he walks toward his bandmate. In the air, Richard can smell the mawkish stench of competition. The closer he gets to Till and his harem, the stronger it grows, and Richard is not ready to admit how much of it he’s oozing himself.

He flicks his Zippo open, to light up the lean cigarette hanging from his mouth. He doesn’t utter a word, but simply holds Till’s stare while giving the Marb a couple brief draws until its ember glows fatuous in the dark. For all Richard cares right now, no one else is in the room but the man sitting on that couch. The old bastard who’s devouring him alive without even touching him. That needs to change. Still standing, Richard brushes Till’s knee with his own, and leans forward to place his half-full glass in the other’s hand. A little gift, accompanied by a curl of smoke blown in Till's face, a blatant invite pretending to be accidental.

“Ladies. Enjoy yourselves.” Richard says, playing charmer. And just like that, he turns and walks away.

Outside, estranged from the party, he leans against the wall, smoking. Bringing his faithful companion to his lips, he wonders what’s going to be left of it by the time Till joins him. He’s sure it’s a matter of minutes, at most. An inner race between the short life of a cigarette and the crumbling resistance of a man.

For Till, it’s like following a trail. After all the years spent together, he still complies to Richard’s little games. Nowadays they morphed into something less dangerous than what they used to be, but the allure stays intact. Richard calls and he runs, eager to ignite. He crosses the parlour and the hall, the distinct, inebriating thrill of a chase rushing through his veins. An invisible force guides him, puts him on the right path. By instinct, he knows where Richard’s steps have been, and where they led him.

When he finds his prey - elegant silhouette bathing in the moonlight - Till doesn’t speak, suddenly aware of his own condition: he’s no hunter, merely an avid consumer of the eternal beauty Richard offers. This fox buried sharp white fangs in his heart; fighting that grip would result in death. Silent as a shadow, Till just closes in. He presses his palm against Richard’s, his frame melting into the other’s as the unfinished cigarette meets the ground. In Till’s mind, Richard loses his stubs like an angel loses its feathers; a graceful curse, but a curse nonetheless.

They kiss, slow and mellow, an unexpected twist for them both. With muscular arms thrown around his neck, Till feels protected from heartbreak, fully reciprocated in his desire. “My room?” he whispers, cheek caressing Richard’s, a gentle hand cupping his face.

The unyielding way Richard holds onto him is answer enough, but Till craves more. He wants, _needs_ to hear it.

“Your room.” Richard nods, a sly smile mirroring Till’s. “I won’t make you regret picking me over those women tonight.”

* * *

 

At the end of the sleek curve of Richard’s back, tempting and smooth, his bare ass is a gorgeous sight. Up in the air, asking to be ravaged. Till slaps both his hands on Richard’s burning flesh to keep him spread open, immediately diving into a feast laid out for him only. Receptive, greedy, Richard bucks up against the flat of his tongue, swollen sex grazing the sheets.

  
Till feels drunk on the awareness that seeing, having Richard like that is a privilege that belongs to no groupie, no mother of his children. It is Richard’s will not to let anyone else handle his most vulnerable self, because he trusts nobody else in the world to take care of him as good as Till does. In and out of bed.

Lapping at the pink, soft core of Richard’s tension until it’s sopping wet is for Till an addiction. A service he bestows with unmatched generosity, nested between meaty cheeks as if he’s born for it. The tip of his expert tongue breaches the ring of muscle, stabbing it deeper and faster at each moan the other doesn’t spare.

“That how much you want me?” Richard hisses, playing it cool but fighting hard against the need to hump the mattress. “You think I’m a virgin, baby?” he asks, stretching his arm back to grab and pull at Till’s hair.

Face trapped in the warmest of prisons, Till’s chuckle chokes out, its vibrations tickling Richard’s nerve endings and the whole of his spine. He flicks his tongue over the twitching hole at a savage pace, then slides down to lick more skin, to suck on Richard’s balls and the head of his cock. He pops it in his mouth like some candy, rewarded by a litany of curses.

“Fuck. I want-” Richard whines, fisting the sheets. “You know what I want.”

Till stops his filthy ministrations, discarding kisses up the other’s thigh. “Your wish is my command.” He says, marking his territory with a couple of bites. The heated mewls the other lets out are music for Till’s ears, but most importantly he knows how much Richard loves examining himself in the mirror the morning after, how pleased he is to let his eyes linger over fresh bruises and rest assured he’s still desiderable.

When Till crawls back up to him, Richard beckons for a kiss the other would never deny him. They come at each other hungry, stripped of shame and human troubles. Among all the mistakes he made and all the hearts he broke - including his own \- Richard can only sleep at night because of the one thing he’s sure he did right: give himself to this man. Maybe they settled for less than what they could have had, maybe he’s a damn fool and maybe he will never really deserve Till’s patience and care, but he can’t help depending on him for his peace of mind. All of this, Richard pours on Till’s lips, breathing his breath. Truth is, Till’s strength is entwined with a weakness hidden to most; with every kiss they share, Richard renews his commitment to never let him fall apart, to never be the cause for his unquenchable pain. When the sun sets, he does his best to dull it, to take some of it himself, and cradles Till back to innocence indulging his every need.

“On your back. I’m taking what’s mine.”

Lethal, those gravelly words would make anyone a slave. Till can’t help but do as he’s told, a jolt of anticipation rushing to his neglected sex as he settles on the pillow. Entranced, he just looks at Richard, at those skilled fingers coating his cock in lube. That touch alone feels so good it makes him wanna thrust and spill into Richard’s fist. But no, because disobeying is not what he does. Not now, not to _him_. Pliant, Till just groans his frustration, eyes rolling back into his skull.

“Someone’s impatient, uh?” Richard straddles the other, making sure he’s watching while he smears more lube onto his own sensitive entrance. Making sure Till knows he’s biting down on his lip so hard for his viewing pleasure. He’s slept with countless people in his life but if he ever is a whore, he is for him. He is now, the very moment he guides that big cock right where it belongs and sits on it, mouth gaping at the sensation of being completely filled.

“Fuck, look at you. So beautiful.” Till pleas, palming taut thighs that dance to their own slacking rhythm. Steady, lascivious, not building up to anything but Richard’s power over him. It’s torture for Till, but one he honors, one of his own choosing.

“Hard for you not to move?” Richard purrs, sinking onto every inch of Till’s length with languid, wrenching dedication. The paradox of it all? How pure he feels as he sways in his lap. Slower and slower, up to the point where he stills and just takes his time to adore the man from above, to feel up the stirring energy of his body and memorize his breath by touch. Then he leans forward, crouching on Till as if he’s even jealous of the light daring to rest on his handsome face. “Do you wanna ruin me?” he asks quiet, sinister, nuzzling one of Till’s temples and caressing the other. “Ruin me.” he commands.

And just like that, fraught as a thunder breaking the skies, Till pins down Richard onto the crumpled sheets with his weight. He cares to hold him between his arms, hand clutching his throat. Chest glued to Richard’s upper back, Till snaps his hips, his powerful thrusts slapping at once the dirtiest of moans out of his lover. He pounds him viciously, hip bones smacking tender, flushed ass cheeks. Till is hell bent on seeping into every crack of the other’s soul, on fucking him inside out, until demons have no place to cower and he can cleanse Richard’s morbid hollows with his cum, his devotion, his eternal love. He desperately wants to fill him up with all of that, and more. To smother the ache expanding in his chest at that thought, he sucks a hickey onto Richard’s neck.

Much like Till with his grunts, Richard doesn’t bother trying to muffle his whimpers. He’s vocal, agitated, overwhelmed by the sheer force he’s being mounted with. His hands, erratic, don’t know where to rest because the linen gives no satisfaction; so they keep going back to Till, always Till, reaching out for him blindly. His nape, his jaw, his fingers when Till moves one of his arms to give Richard something to hold on to.

“Do it, baby. I know you’re close.” He pants, squeezing himself around the other’s pulsing cock and reaching down to stroke his own. 

“Fuck. Fuck, you’re tight.” Till roars, and yanks Richard’s hips back until he’s buried balls-deep in that perfect ass for his final efforts. He rams into him rough, once, twice more, and he’s done.

With hot spurts hitting his insides, Richard feels finally used right and is able to come. In the raging mess of curses, a couple silent tears run unnoticed down the wrinkles at the corner of his eyes as he pumps himself dry through the orgasm. 

The aftermath of the first round is a moment of contemplation, at least between them. Coming down from the high, Richard finds himself craving a cigarette, Till the glass of vodka neither of them had finished earlier. And yet they don’t move, because a mightier need pushes them to spoon. Nose pampering Till’s shoulder blades, Richard breathes in his scent. The very definition of manly, salt sticking to a metallic undertone. Richard can taste it on his own lips too, after many kisses pressed lazily on the other’s skin.

Having Richard clung to him like that - fingers splayed on his chest as to capture the beating of his heart - fuels Till’s confidence. In that embrace he recognizes the possessive streak coming from a deeper, rooted sentiment. One he’ll cherish until his dying day. “Missed this, _Kätzchen_?” He asks, affectionate. 

Smiling at the pet name and willing to live up to it, Richard curls his leg around the other’s waist. “Not as much as you have.”

“Really? ‘Cause the way you fucked yourself on my dick says otherwise.”

“You jumped me first.” Richard points out, triumphant, as if at the after show party he didn’t wear his tightest, sluttiest pants with the sole purpose of stoking that fire.

The soft impression of a laughter scrambles up Till’s throat. He has to admit, defeat has never felt sweeter. “Ah. _Touché_.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> *taps on mic* Uh-hum. So yeah, I've been loving Rammstein (and shipping these two) for a decade now, but for some reason I never got into this bandom before. This is my first real attempt at doing so, because it's about damn time and I needed to do something with all my feels lately.  
> I wanted to depict Till and Reesh as accurately as possible and I tried my best, but feel free to dislike my interpretation of their dynamics. This is all... experimental for me. I was scared as fuck of posting this fic, but here we are.
> 
> You can also find me on tumblr at billyhargrrrove :)


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